Till There Was You
by SamanthaFeng
Summary: A collection of ficlets based on Nate and Sophie.
1. There Is No Business Like Show Business

A/N: I wrote this in the excitement after the finale (and thank you writers for giving N/S such a perfect ending), So of course spoiler for "The Long Goodbye Job". And Merry Christmas you all!

* * *

"So, where are we going?" Sophie slid into the seat beside him, smiling at him with her still teary eyes.

Her cheeks were still a little damp and red, but she had that glow he loved and the glitter in her eyes like she was standing in front of a Van Gogh waiting for her to steal. He knew he was smiling himself, never felt so content and relieved and carefree in the last seven years (or maybe more).

"I don't know," he shrugged, reaching over to wipe off some mascara under her eyes, and enjoyed the warm feeling when she lean into his touch. "Where do you want to go?"

"Oh, that's new." She tilted her head and looked at him with a mocking surprise, hair gently falling around her face, "the Nathan Ford doesn't have a plan."

"Well, I'm not a mastermind now. " he grinned, "And for the last five years, I've figured, I should just give up and listen to you."

"Smart boy." She praised him with a brief kiss. He wanted to deepen it, but she put a finger on his lips and stopped him. "I'll think about the long term plan later, but first thing I need to go to my theater and say goodbye to my students."

"Speaking of theater, I got you something." Nate grabbed a package from back seat and handed to her.

"You got me something beside the ring?" Sophie unwrapped it slowly, and her hand flew to cover her mouth when she saw what's inside, "It...it's a Tony. You got me a Tony Award?"

"Stole it." His mouth quirked, "but yeah, it's for your performance today. It was definitely Tony-worthy."

"You're such a charmer." The smile blossomed in her eyes and he couldn't help but matched hers. "But how did you know I'm gonna do well? You must stole it before I went on the stage."

"Of course I knew you'll be great, Sophie, I have faith in you."

"Aww, Nathan Ford, my longest and most loyal fan, who stole me a Tony from," she held it up and checked the name on it, "Audra McDonald."

"Yeah," He pointed the category to her, "it's from the year she played the student who learned to play Lady MacBeth in Master Class. "

"I didn't know you know theater too." She eyed him in surprise.

"You trained me well." he shrugged, "And another good thing is, she still has four of them, so at least she won't miss this one too much."

Sophie laughed, putting the award carefully into her bag. "You know what, maybe we could move to Broadway, so I can produce, and direct, get my name on New York Times - Ben Brantley raves about Sophie Devereaux's new play, and win me some Tonys."

"Sophie, Sophie," He had to hold up a hand and stop her, "baby steps, ok? Let's get to your theater first."

She sighed dramatically, but didn't argue with him.

* * *

When he drove, the night started to fall. They sat in comfortable silence and listened to some old songs softly playing in the radio, letting adrenalin from easier the day worn off.

Then he heard she said beside him. "I'm glad I waited, Nate."

Keeping his left hand firmly on steering wheel and eyes on the road, he reached over and held her hand, the diamond a bit cold against his palm.

There was something well up in his throat when he answered, "I'm glad you did too."


	2. Don't Cry For Me San Lorenzo

A/N: Spoiler for 318 "The San Lorenzo Job". Again, nothing is mine except the mistakes.

* * *

She found him in the balcony, a glass of wine in hand, staring at the dim light of the night out there.

She went on, and stood beside him. "You shouldn't be drinking, Michael, on the night before the election. Not good for your public image."

He turned to face her, and she caught the slight weariness in his eyes.

"Tomorrow is the day." He said, not in the speech tone he carried a lot these days, but low and full of unsureness like the first time she trained him for his speech, "I never thought I could make this far."

"I know." She smiled at him, "But this is amazing, isn't it?"

He matched her smile, "I started this only to be a different voice, you know, among the dictators drug dealers and drug addicted. I never expected to win. But yeah, this is amazing."

"You're the voice of truth, Michael, and the truth will shine, remember?"

He chuckled, "Right, the slogan my grandma never said."

"Michael, you will win tomorrow," She reached over, smoothing his lapel for him, and looked up to him with all the warmth and assurance she had, "We'll make sure you do."

"Rebecca," He hesitated. She noticed his hand was shaking a little and he swallowed. "What if, I want to keep my campaign promise, if I win?"

"Michael, you will win," She tried again (and he didn't argue with her this time), but there was something in his eyes alert her and drew her in at the same time. "Which campaign promise?"

"That we're engaged," He caught her wrist, tentative at first, but then warm and solid. His long finger gently brushed over her pulse point. She could sense the faint smell of liquor in his breath (and that reminded her of Nate) . "That I'm gonna marry you."

That startled her a little. But she was so used to this, man looking at her with sincerity, calling her by the name she didn't belong. And she played along, getting whatever she wanted.

But not this time.

She withdrew her hand sharply, and saw regret and sadness flashing over his face. "We can't Michael, I can't."

"Because of him, Mr Draper?"

She didn't expect this insight of him, but she wasn't really surprised.

"No, Michael, 'cause we coned the people to believe this is true, but I don't want to con you to believe it."

"What if you didn't? What if it-it isn't you?" He slurred his words a bit, but his eyes are bright and confident and determined. No more the man who ran away from the stage. "What if it's me, me wanting you to be my first lady, to stand beside me, to help me?"

It's not in her plan to break a man's heart in the middle of a con, but right now, Sophie or Rebecca, she saw no easy way out. She wished she had a better answer, she really do.

"I can't. I don't belong here. But you do." She took the glass from his hand, then leaned in and touched his cheek briefly, "Now go get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."

And then she walked away.

When she was back to her room, she found Nate waiting for her.

"Where did you go?" His voice was a little drier than usual.

"Just prep Michael for tomorrow." She shrugged.

She could feel his gaze burning on her skin, but she revealed nothing.

He backed off first, but his eyes didn't leave her. "Listen, if things get ugly, turn Vittori loose."

"No." She said in disbelief.

"If things get too hot, they're gonna come after him hard."

"Nate, we can't. For him, for the people."

He stepped closer to her, breath warm on her face. "Would you take a bullet for him, Sophie?"

Looking right into his eyes, she answered, "Maybe."


	3. All Good Things Come To A End

A/N: I own nothing but the mistakes. I'm not a native english speaker, so apologize in advance for all the mistakes.

* * *

_As someone once said, every actress lives for the death scene, so now I present you, the death scene (or not, your choice) of the world's greatest grifter, Sophie Devereaux._

"So what happened in the plan I died?" He heard her whisper in his left ear. Soft as usual, but so much weaker.

"There was never a plan you died in." He murmured, didn't trust his voice.

"That's very unthoughtful of you, Nate."

If it was in another circumstance, he would swear he heard a hint of smile in her voice, but right now, this drove him even more mad.

"Listen to me, Sophie, you are not gonna die. Eliot and Parker will get you out. We will get you out." He spoke with all the (false) bravery and confidence and determination he had. Because, he swore to god, if she died, there was no bloody plan on earth he would care to follow.

"Nate," He could barely make out her voice, "I'm sorry..."

"Don't, Soph, stay with me. Sophie!" He begged, voice cracked and raspy. "Sophie?"

But the silence hit him with full force.

Until a lifetime later, he heard the thundering sound of a door crashing down.


	4. To the life that used to be

A/N: This is written for Leverage Bingo round two, prompt "The Mark". I'm not sure if I can post it here, so if I can't, pls let me know.

Also, apologize in advance for my mistakes b/c I'm not a native speaker and this is un-beta'd.

* * *

Nathan Ford certainly didn't expect things to go wrong in this job (at least not in his Plan A-F), not until the click of flicking off safety hit him through the comm, and the small gasp from Sophie sent him almost hitting the ceiling of the van when standing up and demanding someone tells him what's going on.

"Jason, " Sophie, or Katherine McCready, a rich housewife who was about to write a fat check for Jason's hedge fund behind her husband's back, called out carefully, sounding perfectly innocent and frightened, "darling, what's this for?"

Jason Morris, their mark, an investment banker who use his hedge fund to scam money from women who fell under his charm and promise for high return, didn't really seem like a man who would hurt people physically. But right now, when he snorted, Nate's blood went cold.

"A friend of mine called me last night. His name is Eddie Maranjian, ring any bell? Dar-ling?"

Damn.

"Sophie, get out of there now! Eliot, where are you?"

Sophie made some strangled noise under her breath that he couldn't make out, but the mark's voice was clearer and closer than before. "Perfect time for revenge, don't you think, darling?"

Eliot's rushed words followed cut through the panic cloud in his head, "I'm two floors below her. Jason got some man here, the building is not as clear as Hardision claimed."

"Man, the camera shows no..."Hardision was about to protest, but the stern look from Nate showed him this really wasn't a good time.

"Parker, you drive, we have to get there right now! Sophie, Eliot is on his way, I need you to stall-" His words were interrupted by a sudden gun shot, and the dull sound of someone hitting the floor.

"Sophie!" Eliot's voice echoed his, and he almost shouted at Parker to ask her to drive faster, faster.

Then they heard the rapid beating of her heels on the floor and her strained voice, "I'm fine, Nate. On my way out." The chaos in his head started to calm down when Eloit's low voice reached him, "I got her, get us in the back door."

He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her into an embrace when Eliot half lifted and half pushed her through the door. It stung him a little when she flinched at his touch and sank herself in the seat without a sound. He took the still tightly-hold gun from her hand (her hands were shaking and ice-cold), noticing it was still burning under his fingertips.

"Call an ambulance." She looked up finally, only to ask curtly.

"What? Are you hurt?" Parker voiced his concern loudly, with Eloit hurrying over to check on her.

"Not for me." waving him off wearily, Sophie slumped back and closed her eyes, "I think I might have killed our mark."

* * *

After the team briefing, he found her at the closed bar, sitting on his usual spot and pouring herself a drink from a half empty bottle. She didn't shift as he entered, but he knew she sensed his presence.

"I'm not sharing this with you, Nate, go away." She continued to stare at her glass, speaking quietly to the liquid inside.

He smiled tightly at her words. He slid into the stool beside her, their shoulders barely touched. He poured two fingers for himself, her gaze followed his move, but she didn't protest.

"I..."He rubbed his forehead tiredly, words once again lost in him, "Listen, Sophie, I'm sorry."

"For what?" She questioned sharply.

"For... for putting you in danger, let you be there alone. It shouldn't go that far you have to...have to..." The words were stuck under his tongue. He closed his eyes briefly, remembering the feeling of her hands cold and trembling under his fingers.

She laughed at him, like there was something ridiculous about his words, but the bitterness seeping through made him cringe. "Nate, what makes you think I've never pulled a trigger before?"

"I didn't...I'm not..."

"I shot you." She said flatly.

"Yeah, yeah. But this is different. You're not a murderer, Sophie."

"No, I'm not," She dropped her head, returning her gaze to the glass, her hair curtained her face, "at least not intentionally. But I've been in this game for so long now, probably longer than you are. There ought to be once or twice, I had blood on my hands."

"Once? Or twice?" He wasn't sure if it was a good question to ask (most certainly not), but he asked anyway. If that's where darkness was, he will go with her.

"I don't know. Does it matter? There was a time I tricked the mark's own men killed him because I had way too much faith in myself and didn't bring a gun. I helped them drag the body to the car and dumped it. And then another time I did it myself. I ran away after, so I don't know if he died. I don't want to know."

She laid her palms flatly against the table and kept staring at them when she spoke. He took a big swallow as he wondered if she saw blood on them, whisky burnt all the way down to his throat.

"You know, Nate," she look at him again, letting out a small laugh, "I know you always want to think us innocent in a way, but as much as I'd love to believe I can talk my way out of everything, I can't. On good days, I play to win, but when bad days come, I play to survive."

When he thought about it then, he found out he did always imagine she lived a rather innocent life, well, as innocent as a criminal/art thief can be. Maybe it was because he refused to imagine there would be more in her life than the parties and balls, museums and galleries, the running on the rooftop of Paris, the cat and mouse game of theirs. Because, if he was willing to admit, it would pain him, to think about the possibilities of the results of her failed cons, of people other than him, who won't just shoot her on the shoulder and let her escape, of the guns pointed to her head when he was probably at home having dinner with Maggie and Sam. No, he'd rather see her life as something involving art, diamond, some rich marks, and their little game.

Yet right now, the bubble bursted when all those thoughts he tried to dismiss flooding over him. He clutched his glass at the imagines and shut his eyes.

"Look, I'm not in shock or anything," Noticing the shadow on his face, she spook softly, as if she was the one comforting him (he laughed at the ridiculousness of that), "It's just..." She shook her head slightly, the sentence died on her lips.

He knew, of course. Just like he used to see himself as an honest man, but when he remembered things he did (or capable of doing) sometimes, he was frightened by the man he saw.

"Soph." That was all he managed to say. Her name rolled off his lips like a plea, as if the single syllable could make her (them, everything) all better. Maybe it did, cuz when he tentatively put his hand at the small of her back, she leaned into his touch ever so slightly.

When they drained the bottle, she sighed and asked softly, "could you ask Hardision to check it for me, if Jason is still alive?"

Later that night, when Hardison called back with the news that the mark didn't make it, he took the glass away from her (the irony of that), guided her upstairs, and made her forget as much as he could (she could).

Then when everything quieted down, he murmured "you're not a murderer" in her ear and held her tight. She smiled wetly against his skin, her fingertip kept tracing an invisible line on his back over and over again, and when his words tickled in her ear, she nodded into his shoulder and thought,

But the line really blurred.

xx

A/N: I actually quite like this one myself, so pls let me know what you think.


	5. A Christmas Carol

This is written for Leverage Bingo Round Two, prompt "Tom Baker".

The Doctor Who episode mentioned in this fic is "A Christmas Carol", Christmas Special of year 2010. In which the Doctor has to go back to a old man's childhood and change his whole life to save a ship with 4003 passengers.

* * *

The team spent their Christmas Eve together for the first time this year, but after a whole night of Parker gingerly running in and out the house at the sight of snow, Eloit's "dammit Hardision" and the hacker's cheering when he won the video game, and the never-stop complaining when he lost, and all those bickering (even Sophie joined them), Nate finally made the decision by the time the rest of the team were about to leave and suggested that everyone should have the next day off and enjoy a quiet Christmas day.

He woke up at almost noon the next day. When he went downstairs, he was welcomed by the humming sound of his tea kettle.

"You're awake." He turned around, and greeted by Sophie, who was lazily sitting on the sofa in his living room, with a magazine in hand.

He didn't mention anything about the day off everyone supposed to take. He let her make tea for both of them (because she always complained about how he knew nothing about making tea), and he made some pasta for lunch (and rewarded by a delightful moan when she tasted it). They spent the afternoon chatting about old days (neither of them mentioned now, cuz_ now_ was something they were trying so hard not to talk about nowadays). And somewhere in between the story of Musée d'Orsay and the great debating of whether he actually caught her in Stockholm, he offered her the jug of eggnog in his fridge, and she, surprisingly, didn't say anything about him and alcoholic.

By the time they finished cleaning dishes from their dinner, it was almost a quarter to nine at night. She joyfully curled up on his couch, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.

"Anything good?" She moved over a bit and made some room for him, so he happily sat beside her.

"Doctor Who Christmas Special is about to be on." She switched the channel directly to BBC America.

"Seriously? You're not Hardison in disguise of Sophie, are you?" Amazed, he teased her gently.

"Hey, "She protested, nudging him to get some popcorn, "Doctor Who is a good TV show."

"Just never see you as a geek type." He shouted from the kitchen.

"Come on Nate, I'm British, I grew up with it playing on TV. I don't have to be a geek to like it."

"So that's where your Sarah Jane Baker alias comes from." He handed a bow of popcorn to her, and she grabbed a handful.

"Used to be a die-hard 4th Doctor and Sarah Jane shipper." She sat back, throwing one into her mouth. "But how could you have a Tom Baker if you never watched Doctor Who. And no, don't pretend it's Hardison's doing. He even questioned me last time how we have Doctor Who related alias."

"Sam loved Doctor Who." He surrendered with truth. She felt a bang of regret when shadow returned to the eyes that were so crystal blue just moments ago. "When he was sick and had to quit school, I bought him all the old who DVDs. We used to sit in his room and watch all day."

He bowed his head at the memories. She reached over, her finger gently brushed the messy hair away from his forehead and lingered there. He returned his gaze to her, and for a moment, the sympathy and sadness were so clear in her eyes that he didn't need to read her to see (and sympathy was the last thing he wanted). But the look quickly shifted, as if remembering something funny, she laughed airily (or pretended to, he couldn't tell), "You know, I actually auditioned for Doctor Who once."

Appreciating her effort, he smiled, raising an eyebrow, "You did?"

"Uh huh. I was on a job in Cardiff, and..."

"On a job?" He smirked.

"Well, National Museum of Wales does have some very fine paintings." She shrugged, but the corners of her mouth curled up slightly, "Anyway, I asked my agent to arrange an audition for me."

"And?" He could almost guess the answer to his question, when he saw the "I-just-read-my-play-review" Sophie she instantly became.

"They thought I was too alien. They asked me to try a part of a spider, which was fine for me, cause I don't mind which character I play as long as I can be on Doctor Who, but to think I'm too alien for a giant ugly spider?" She threw her hands up in the air unbelievably.

"I'm sure it was their loss." He tried carefully.

But clear Sophie didn't hear a thing he said, as she was still furious about being turned down for playing a giant spider. "The worse thing is, I soon found out they were shooting Christmas Special for that year, so I missed a chance to be in the same episode with my favorite companion in new who, Donna, just because I'm... I mean, how could it even possible to be too alien for an alien?"

"Sophie..." Had yet to learn how to deal with this Sophie, Nate held up his hand but completely lost what to do. Lucky for him, the theme song started to play just in time. "Don't you want to watch the show?"

Nate smiled at the sight as she grunted something under her breath, leaned close to him and locked her eyes on the screen.

When Abigail started to sing the song and the Doctor once again saved a whole ship of people, Sophie looked at him through unshed tears. There were some questions she didn't voice, but he could read them, just as clear, in her eyes. Would you go back, and change everything, if you could?

He contemplated it again, just as the thousands times before when he asked himself the same questions in the middle of a night. And the answer didn't change. "I don't know."

He knew exactly what she wanted to hear, yet again, he couldn't give it to her. But for once, he didn't see any disappointment or anger in her eyes, only warmth and understanding when she reached over and held his hand.

"It's alright, Nate." She simply nodded and returned her attention to the show.

"Halfway out of the dark." The Doctor said on the screen. And with that, the Doctor and his companions, they are gone.


	6. Remember It Well

Written for Ten Weeks of Nate/Sophie on LJ. Prompt: The Mile High Job.

* * *

_"You're gonna remember this one, aren't you?"_

_"Oh yeah."_

He always remembers.

He remembers it well, the night in Prague, ten years ago.

He remembers he spotted her so easily in a house full of people, his gaze drew to her like any other men in that room.

He remembers she smiled at him across the room, raising her glass, and he remembers the feeling of his heart skipped a beat. He can still see the flaming red dress she was wearing, her hair pulled up, leaving her shoulders bare at his sight.

He remembers later that night, when the alarm was triggered and they found out the Degas was gone, he rushed into the hall, scanned across the room and knew, in the exact moment, what (or who) was missing. Because the room was simply different without her.

He caught a glimpse of dark hair in a small side door and he ran after her without a thought.

He remembers he followed her into the night, she paused, for a briefest moment, at the opposite side of the road, turned around and gave him a little wave. He remembers her dark eyes glittered like the brightest city light.

She disappeared into some small street of Prague, and he remembers, the lingering smell of her perfume in the crispy cold air.

#

Seven years and eleven months ago, he caught her in Damascus. He remembers it well, he caught her right there with the small sculpture she switched.

He watched her closely throughout the event, because there was a weird feeling of familiarity about that mysterious woman behind the veil. He figured out her escape plan, and caught up with her in one of the famous marketplace of Damascus.

He remembers her dark eyes sparkled with innocence and her perfect Middle East accent. He remembers her soft skin under his finger when he caught her slim wrist and cuffed her to himself.

She struggled a little against the cold metal, her veil slipped a bit with her movement, exposed half of her nose and high cheekbone. He gently tugged the veil off, revealing the familiar face he hadn't seen for two years.

A tiny mischievous smile was dancing on the corner of her month, and he remembers she said, "do you like what you see?"

He doesn't remember what he said, but he remembers she offered him her free hand, and told him her name in a British accent. Sophie Devereaux, that was something he could never forget.

He took the hand she offered, and he remembers he thought she seemed to lean into him slightly, because suddenly he was very aware of the fact she was so close to him, he could feel her breath on his lips (and her lips were so full and red and inviting), he could close the distance simply by dipping his head.

Of course, he tore his gaze away from her. But until then, a few seconds already passed, the other end of handcuffs suddenly became light, and she was already several steps away.

The sculpture still heavy in his pocket, the veil still softly tangled between his fingers, but it took him a few minutes to realize, his wallet had gone with her.

The wallet returned a few weeks later in a post, to his home at LA. He remembers things were still where they were, except his credit card had been replaced by a small card with her flourish handwriting, "until next time."

He remembers he spent a week thinking what to do with the card, he couldn't bear to throw it away, but he won't want Maggie to question about it. In the end, he slipped it into the notebook he used to document the thief he didn't catch, into a full book of information and notes and newspaper clip of the greatest grifter, Sophie Devereaux. He can still find the notebook, if he wants, buried deep in one of his drawers.

#

He remembers he chasing her on the rooftops of Paris, along the left bank of Seine, and into a small café beside the street.

He caught her of course, but without the painting. He let her walk away, but she offered him a cup of coffee.

He remembers he sat down despite his better judgment, listening to her gentle voice talking about the art she loved (or stole, but he didn't say anything about that). They chatted all afternoon, he remembers her light laughter floating around in that little café with the fresh smell of coffee.

When the night came, she bid him goodbye, but not before she took his wallet, again, with her.

He found his wallet in his hotel room that time, the same small card tugged behind his photo with Sam and Maggie. He could almost hear her whispering beside his ears, until next time.

#

He remembers Tuscany. Well, not exactly Tuscany, because it was spring then, all those warm breeze, art events, little local café on the streets reminded him too much about Paris. But he definitely remembers that time.

He asked her for a favor. It was the first time they played on the same side. They made such a great team and won easily.

He took her to a local restaurant after their victory, where served delicious food and very fine wines. Their night continued to a bar after the dinner, they were both tipsy after a few glasses, and she even managed to drag him into the dance floor.

He remembers the air was sweet, the song was quiet. Her body warm in his arm, her dress soft under his touch. He held her close, her eyes shining, and her smile wide.

He remembers the overwhelming temptation that existed since Damascus (it still exists now, every time their faces close, her lips inches away) was bubbling dangerously in his chest that made him want nothing but leaned forward and taste her and be the man he never expected him to be.

But he also remembers he didn't. She turned her gaze away, and when the song ended, they said goodbye in the empty street, and she left nothing to remind him this time.

He remembers a lot of things.

#

He remembers Venice.

Not the Carnevale. The masks, the gondola chase, they're all blurred now. But the green dress that hugged every right place and the stunning diamond necklace that shined with her could still take his breath away.

He remembers the other time in Paris. How could he forget? He has the scar under his collarbone to remind him .

But he also remembers the pain and shock in her eyes, her coat stained with blood, remembers him spending a whole night wondering if she was gonna survive, because he knew she couldn't go to a hospital.

#

He is sure he would remember today, many years later.

Remember the very thin line between life and death. Remember all the screaming in the cabin, and she sitting shakingly on the seat across the aisle and trusting him to save the whole plane. He would remember the bitterness he tastes when he imagines if he couldn't save them, if the plane crashes right there and then, the regret of all the wasted years and missed chances, the fear of unspoken words could never been said. He would remember she asks him if he is gonna remember this one.

Of course he will remember.

Because even if he messes up dates or places sometimes (only details that matter), even if he jokes and teases and may never tell her, but when it comes to Sophie, one of the greatest grifter (and woman) he has ever met, he always, always remembers.


	7. Wedding Day

A/N: Written for Ten Weeks of Nate and Sophie on LJ.

Also, if any of my readers are Chinese (or anyone who want to celebrate the holiday), happy belated Chinese New Year! I don't normally ask for reviews, but for holiday spirit, pls review! :)

* * *

She said no to a grand wedding.

Nate brought it up when they were in bed. In-between the tiny kisses he lazily placed along her back, he asked her how she wanted their wedding to be.

She was surprised that he was the one who brought up. (Because, come on, it was Nate she was talking about here, the man who thought wedding was nothing but a giant, giant con.) But when she looked into his eyes and saw the fleeting look of worry there, she realized, with a bang, that he was suspecting she had a second thought.

She shouldn't be surprised though. He had the right reason to worry, she knew. It had been two months, one week and six days since he proposed, and she, someone who was always so enthusiastic to dresses, flowers, big events, hadn't for once come to him to talk about their wedding plan.

They always came back to _this_, she thought then, after knowing each other for more than a decade, working together for five years, sleeping together for two, they still and would always come back to this, he doubting and waiting for her to leave, and she could do nothing more to erase it. It was more than each other they would marry, there were also burdens and pasts along with themselves, which would constantly hunt them and lay right between them, and they were both too bright and knew each other too well to miss them.

She'll learn to live with these, she promised herself, but right then, when his incredibly blue eyes searched her face with concern, her instinct was still answering his question with another question, what your wedding with Maggie was like?

Surely, he sensed the deflection, but he indulged her with the story of his last wedding anyway (maybe their relationship did mature a lot along the way). Those were all bittersweet memories, they were both young and not very wealthy then, the wedding was small (but memorable, he added fondly), held in a church in LA, with his father (who was gone now) and Maggie's family (which reminded her that her family, on the other hand, was long left behind and buried by time). "It sound like a lovely wedding." He smiled sadly at her words. She cupped his cheeks gently and after all these years, she could still see the good honest man she met and fell in love with many years ago, see those unchanged guilt and regret he carried with him . (But he was here now, it was their wedding they were discussing. So only these changed things that mattered.)

She repaid his openness by her story. Charlotte's story, the story of the wedding of 18th Duke and Duchess of Hanover. It was not Sophie's wedding, nor hers, it was only a con, but still, she had been there. It was a wedding that could put most weddings in the world in shame, castle in Scotland, hundred dozens of white roses, thousands guests (Charlotte actually worried for weeks that someone might recognize her, but William was so eager to declare his love in front of the world, she couldn't bring herself to say no), the choir singing her favorite songs, she fell for him a little bit when William looked into her eyes, said his vows and slid the ring onto her finger (she kept that bit from Nate, of course). She had them all, a huge wedding, a grand love affair (even it was a fake one to begin with), a ceremony that she and every other girl dreamed of when they were just kids, but then, she looked up to Nate and her smile wet, they all knew how that story ended. So no, she couldn't care less about the wedding ceremony, and felt no need to spending weeks even months going over every details of the wedding plan.

So she and Nate laid out their wedding plan in an hour, gathered people there in three days. And then there they were now.

Only seven people presented beside themselves. The team, Tara, Maggie (suggested by Sophie), Sterling (Nate proposed, Sophie agreed only on the condition that the team, Eloit specifically, were ok with that), and father Paul.

In Prague. Sophie let Nate choose the location and he suggested Prague. No, it was not love in first sight, he denied when she teased him, but he explained later (and stumbled cutely while doing so) that there was no going back since then. There was no living a life without you in it ever since.

In National Gallery in Prague. Do they even need to think about the place after they chose Prague? Of course, the gallery wasn't available for wedding ceremony, but like that ever stopped them before. (Sophie liked the idea of Nate stealing her a wedding since he didn't steal the engagement ring. Besides, she was sure the gallery director wouldn't be mad at them when he found the long lost Degas in their the collection the next day.)

So they were here now, she was admiring the Degas she stole fifteen years ago, Nate's arm around her waist, Parker, Hardison and Eloit were arguing about the best plan to steal one of Monet, Tara and Maggie were laughing together while drinking champagne. It felt nothing like a traditional wedding, nothing like the giant con Nate once complained about.

If marriage was a con, she thought at that moment, _this_ must be the most successful con she ever ran in her whole life.


	8. Turn Left

This is written for Leverage Bingo Round Two, prompt "IYS". Technically this is mostly gen, but there are some N/S if you squeeze.

* * *

Nathan Ford is one of the best insurance investigators. After recovering dozens of famous paintings, saving IYS billions dollars, Nathan Ford becomes a valuable asset to his company, an asset that IYS is willing to pay millions dollars to keep within the company.

(Even though he has to beg for it. He takes countless trips to his boss' office, prepares paper after paper to prove the treatment should be covered by Sam's insurance policy, he loses his temper several times, he almost loses his hope, he stands in front of Blackpool for hours plead and plead for his son's life. In the end, the man sitting behind the desk nods coldly and agrees to sign the document.)

He couldn't thank him enough, couldn't thank IYS enough. Three days after Sam's surgery, he goes back to work. He owns IYS his son's life, hard-working is the only way he can repay them.

("Nathan, IYS recognizes your contribution all these years", he remembers Blackpool's words, "this is how we show our appreciation. And we hope, in the future, you'll show us that we made the right decision." Which, he understands completely, means more money being saved, more artworks being recovered and more thieves being caught (Sophie Devereaux, just to name one).)

#

On the third case since he comes back to work, two months after Sam's surgery, he encounters Eloit Spencer. The retrieval specialist is on a mission of acquiring an antiquity IYS insured. Two days before his action, Nate figures out his plan and hires Mr. Quinn, another hitter to stop him. He knows, at the time, who Spencer works for (you may never meet Damien Moreau, but you surely have heard of him) and what will wait for him if he doesn't get the antiquity. But then, that's not his business to care, all he have to do is saving his company 18 million dollars.

On his fifth job, Sam is already happily back to school then, he catches a hacker right when he is transferring money from his client's account. The hacker is a very young man, a bit cocky, but truly talented. The young man asks Nate to let him go before the police comes, his voice sincere, his eyes pleading, "I promise this will be my last job, Sir, but my nana need this money. My nana need 50 thousand dollars to pay her medical bills, she is dying, Sir, 50 thousand dollars ain't even a large number for you client." He doesn't let him go. No, 50 thousand dollars aren't a huge number, but he owns IYS much more than that.

After Sam's 10th birthday, he and James are determined to catch Parker. No one ever come close to that thief. It takes them three months to go over her every known thefts and still haven't come up with a plan. One day, James hands him a file containing a photo of an old gentleman. "Archie", James explains, "he is the closest thing Parker has as a family. It would be easier for us to get him first and use him as a bait." He wonders, for a brief moment, how it would feel like if someone use Sam against him, but he nods his head anyway.

#

Inevitably, three years after Sam getting better, IYS sends him to Paris and he once again meets the grifter, Sophie Devereaux. Her smile and teasing are still all so familiar when she sees him. Like old days, she runs, and he chases, but he wonders if she knows that something has changed this time around.

Just when she is about to end their game like usual and disappear into a dark alley, he pulls his gun out and shoots her from behind.

"Nate?" She calls out, breathing his name with a whole mixture of pain and shock and anger and disbelief. He smiles bitterly at the memory of she cursing "you wanker" last time he shot her, but they both know now things are different this time.

He cuffs her and calls the police. Their eyes meet briefly before the policemen take her away; she looks at him as if seeing a completely stranger, her gaze cold and distant, but still falls heavily on his figure and almost crushes him.

He walks away first, before they drive her away, her blood thick on his hands. That is the last time he ever see Sophie Devereaux.

(He hears that she manages to get away later, but she falls off his radar ever since. He doesn't look her up anymore, he feels he lost the right.)

#

Five years later, Nathan Ford is the best in his business. He isn't sure if he likes the man he is now, but he has a job, a happy family. His son is about to turn 13 this year, and he won't trade anything in the world for that.


	9. Shadows of Doubt

A/N: Written for Leverage Bingo and 10 weeks of Nate & Sophie. Both of them have a prompt "The King George Job", but I'm too lazy to write two different fics.

I know you all hated my last fic (only one review, seriously?), but I hope you'll like this one a little more.

This fic is unbeta'd, so apologize for all the mistakes, English is not my first language. but I'm looking for a beta reader right now, is there any nice person out there who is willing to save me from all my grammar mistakes and make my stories a little better?

* * *

It has been a long day for Nate.

Seven hours flight from London to Boston, followed by the procedure to get A'Yan out, then a team briefing on Mark Vector, and now he is sitting here in the closed bar, exhausted but painfully awake, mind still racing about all the possible ways to steal them a federal witness. Besides, sitting next to Sophie during the flight didn't help him at all either. The way she spent a large half of the journey staring out of the window without a word, and the other half disapprovingly eyeing his glass of whiskey irritated him, in fact, he has had that unsettling feeling ever since they met Keller in the tea room. Even now, half a bottle down, a plan almost made out, the darkness in the bar completely embracing him, the feeling is still there, clenching his stomach and tickling his inside.

Nate always welcomes the darkness. He is the only one there; the door is closed, the shadow has swallowed everything, reducing the world outside to merely a humming sound. It calms him, he slowly breathes in and out the crispy cold air, trying to banish all the unneeded thoughts from his head.

It's Sophie who breaks the quietness (he can recognize her by the sound of her heels on the floor). The door cracks open and brings in the only light.

"You should get some sleep, Nate." She speaks softly, tiredness quite evident in her own voice.

He could make out her silhouette against the backlight, seconds later, when his eyes readjust to the light, he notices she has changed to something soft and comfortable, gone are the heavy makeup of Duchess and the tangled pearl necklaces around her neck. He always suspects this version of Sophie is closer to who she really is under all the layers and lies, but then, what does he know, really.

She sighs at his lack of reaction, leans against the counter and takes away the glass from his grasp. The feeling of her finger brushing over his own finally makes something inside him snap.

"So, Lady Charlotte Prentice, uh?" He draws out every syllable deliberately.

He doesn't miss the way her eyes widen slightly. "Nate." His name falls from her lips, like a warning, or a plea, he couldn't tell.

He moves the glass closer to him, intentionally filling it fully while watching her intensely. "You know, Sophie, I can't help but wonder, every time you take my drink away, is it because of your guilt, you are afraid that I might drink myself to an early death, just like William."

She inhales sharply, anger flaming in her eyes. For a split second, he thinks she is going to slap him.

Her lips tremble a little when she pushes the words out with force. "Your drinking constantly puts us in danger, Nate, I have to do it for the team. And, I do care about you, you know it."

But he doesn't know, not for sure. The thing about Sophie, is she always is an enigma, a mystery, there will always be a part of her that was hidden from everyone, him included. Every time he thinks he gets closer, thinks he may see the real her, something turns up and hits him unprepared, and he is again back to unsure.

For all these years he has known her, the doubt has always been there. It's part of the reason they're still where they're now. He can say for certain now he has become an important part in Sophie's life, but what about Charlotte, Jenny, Katherine, Annie, and what about the real her? Does Jenny, Katherine, Annie, or whoever her other alias are, also has a Nate or a William in her life? He knows her, knows be it Sophie, Charlotte, or Jenny, she bats her lashes and men fall under her charm. He sees it happens every day. So he can't help but wonder, in some moments like this, if he is just one of them.

"You know what's so funny?" Nate knocks down his drink in one gulp, winces at the burning feel. "We talk a lot now, but you never said a thing about yourself, and yet...yet you're the one who always accuse me for not opening up."

Her gaze drops, fixing on a non-exited point somewhere between them. For a while, their breaths are the only sound in the room.

She wants to blame him for that, because, it has been about him all along, him mourning over his son, his father issue, his drinking problem, him him _him_ and there is no_ her_ in their relationship. He never asks and she couldn't bring herself to burden him with her own past when he already has so much (too much) on his shoulders. But it's not entirely fair, she knows, to blame him for everything when she is the one who wants to shut away her past, who pretends changing character is no different from changing clothes, who tries so hard to convince herself that her cons are just like plays, when the show ends and the curtain closes, what has happened on stage will soon become nothing but a fictional story.

Except it's not. It always comes back and haunts her.

"That was a life time ago." She sighs. When Sophie finally looks up, the regret and sadness in her eyes are so plain that Nate almost wants to reach for her.

He clenches his hands around the glass to keep them from reaching out, but his tone is so much softer. "What happened?"

"Oh you know, just a con went wrong." She shakes her head slightly, her gaze miles away. "I wanted to run a long con to get myself a royal persona, everything seemed easier when you have a royal title, so I picked a mark, took my time and went through everything you needed to marry a Duke. But I was so young then, hadn't fully realized the danger of a long con."

"It fires back at you." He speaks understandingly.

She nods and continues, sounding almost wistful. "Despite all the lies, we actually had a good time. Eighteen months into the marriage, I was still in the family. Then I suddenly realized I got too comfortable with that life and I fell..."

She glances at him fleetingly. He takes a long sip of his drink, pretending not to notice the tiny crack in her voice and the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

"I was really scared. Worrying what would happen if he found out the real me, doubting if that normal life would be enough for me ten years, twenty years later. So I found some excuses, picked a fight with him and ran off. Three years later, I heard rumors about he drowning himself in bottles ever since."

"You could go back to him, you know, if you..." The word tastes much more bitter than he thought, "if you really loved him." He wonders, if she came back for him, because she didn't go back then.

"I was planning to. But I was in a job, and then you shot me in Paris, and then I had to stay away from Europe for a while just in case, and... I don't know, things just kept coming up...When I finally went back, I was only in time for his funeral." He can hear her voice cracks all over the place. "William was a good man, gentle, caring, madly in love with Charlotte. But I ruined him."

She is openly crying now. Nate offers her his handkerchief, she dabs it around her eyes, trying not to mess up her makeup, but soon gives up and wipes her cheeks furiously wanting the tears to stop.

She curses something under her breath, and inhales deeply when tears finally slow down. "Grifters' rule no.1, never fall in love in a con." She flashes him a wan smile through watery breaths (his heart shatters at the sight). "See what it always gets me into."

He gives up his glass at last. Reaching for her, his finger brushes over her cheeks gently and catches the last drop of her tear.

He wonders then even if he knows this is nothing but another con of hers, he is no more than just another man in her another persona, could he simply stop falling?

Probably not, he muses.

He can only pray it will be a life-long con, or he may have to seek consolation in drink, and die a broken heart.

xx

A/N: I don't normally ask for reviews, but I'd really like to hear what you think of this, or at least let me know someone is still reading.


	10. Five Drabbles

A/N: These are a few drabbles (well, not traditional drabbles, since all of them are more than 100 words) I wrote for Leverageland Challenge.

Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.

* * *

1. Suicide

He didn't end his life by his own hand. Couldn't, that's not the man he was, and not the man she would want him to be.

God knew he wanted to. In those endless nights when he was haunted by the dreams of her body going cold in his arms. In those endless bottles that never burnt away his pains and regrets. But the sunlight still greeted him, the empty bed was still mocking him, he still dragged himself through days after days after days.

He was still running the cons with the rest of teams, organizing the heists, taking down bad guys. But his plan went wilder each time, the risk they took grew higher, and he made sure he throw himself in the front line every time. If someone wanted to intervene, they would be silenced by his cold glares and more drinks.

He had seen it coming (prayed for it actually), the day he finally couldn't walk away from his own cons. He welcomed it, after praying his plan Z would work, the one he had planned ever since her funeral, the one in which the mastermind died during the con.

The dull pain he felt when the bullet hit him was not something unfamiliar, only this time, the pain came later was so much stronger, searing all the way through his stomach. His legs gave up seconds later and his version started to blur. He smiled at the man who shot him, and thought, took you long enough.

He thought he saw her then, smiling and alive. He clung to the image and fell willingly into the darkness. Nathan Ford had died a happy man.

* * *

2. Alive

Sophie loves feelings. The happiness, the excitement, love, hate, even the heart-break, they make her feel alive, feel she is a living human, not a breathing and walking shell.

As a child, Sophie always thought her life was dull. The wealthy life, posh guests, parties held by her family, in her young mind, were merely one boring things after another. Even her passion for art and acting didn't make life any better, the drawing class with kids from upper-class families like hers and performing from her father's friends only became another two things she loathed.

She ran away from home, seeking thrill in some unconventional ways. She kept stealing, grifting; the rush of adrenalin, the pounding of heart, the fear and excitement were once again the proofs of her living.

But when she got better and better at what she was doing, things became less exciting again. She took more difficult jobs, chose different marks, but life seemed to stay the same. Until she met him.

Sophie found another way of being alive. Like she told the young thief many years later, the thrill of vulnerability, the danger of opening your heart, it made people feel alive. Love made her feel alive.

* * *

3. Wake

When looking back, the a little more than two years after Sam's death for him were merely a haze. He had tried to drown his sorrow in alcohol and sleep his pain away (well, if you call pass out asleep). There was no distinction between his days and nights, his life was simply dragging on and on. Every waking moment used to be a torture for him, even now when those days seemed like a blurry dream, the pain he felt then was still sharp as new.

Later, when he was with the team, things got a little better. He was still drunk, the sober moments were still rare in his days, but the jobs were like some exciting dreams, which he used to keep his nightmares away. Besides, although the kids' bickering didn't help his hangover at all, waking up to a house full of people was better than waking up to house full of bitter memories. And Sophie, despite of her disproving looks, she would always offer him a cup of fresh made coffee.

Then one day, he woke up to a body pressing against him, warm and soft, their limbs tangled, her breath even beside his ear. He brushed the dark locks from her face and smiled under the bright sunlight. He realized, for the first time in a long time, he didn't mind being awake at all.

* * *

4. Guide

She is his compass, he realizes now, sitting alone in his living room and watching the whisky disappearing from the bottle inch by inch. The realization is three months late though, since she is far away now, half way across the world. She is out there looking for herself; while he isn't sure if she has found what she's looking for, himself here certainly seems to be lost.

She has guided him, even back then, during their cat-mouse days. She had given him a purpose, to catch her. Even if it might have made his life a bit more complicated at the time, he still followed her traces and went wherever she went.

When they became a team, she was constantly pushing him, challenging him, taking away his alcohol and pouring them in the drain. He was grateful for her presence, he really was, it reminded him that there was still something good in his life, but he was also frustrated at her. Angry at her, because why on earth she couldn't just let him go, let him live his pain and regret and guilty and let him go down the road he deserved.

It has been a complicated year, and now she is gone and he is sitting here alone with his drink. He noticed the kids' worried looks and careful behavior these days, but no one came forward and confronted him like she did. Maybe he won't really mind if she shows up now, snatches his glass away and gives him her stern looks, no, he would prefer that than the drink in his hand.

He needs her to guide him, to keep him on the right track, to show him who he really is. He tells her that, another two month later, when he is slightly drunk and the words "I need you, you're my compass" ring loudly in his own ears. He isn't sure if she has heard him, but it doesn't matter, he knows that now, and knowing Sophie, she might have known it before him.

* * *

5. Dance

The first time Nate danced with Sophie, was in the middle of a con. Her con, but at the time, he didn't know. The gorgeous Duchess Alexia of Barrington Highsworth wanted a dance with him, how could he say no. He couldn't take his eyes away from her, and she had used to opportunity to take his wallet. He believed it was the little information she learnt from his wallet made him lose the Degas that night.

The second time was after they pulled off a con, together. She dragged him to the dance floor, to celebrate. It was the first time he asked her for help, and the first time they played on the same side. Maybe because he was slightly drunk that night, he thought she was even more breath-taking that night, her smile was flirtier, it had taken him a whole lot strength to resist.

The third time was when Sam first got sick. It was his last job before he took some time from work and to be with Sam in his treatment, and the dancing, as she said, was meant to cheer him up a little (or it could mean goodbye, when he thinks about it now). He still remembers her soft smile, her deep eyes shining in the night. He wished he could just let go, bury himself in that moment and forget the darkness ahead. He didn't, nor would she let him.

The fourth time is now. King and Queen of high school reunion, Nathan Ford and the woman he has known for so long and still doesn't know her name. It feels the same, like many years ago, she is warm and real in his arms, her breath inches away. The memories about their dances never fade away, but the reality right now, is so much better than the memories.


	11. Timeless

AU. Or sort of Leverage/Doctor Who fusion. Written for Leverageland challenge_ Promt! [Time]. _

It has been a while since I last wrote something Nate/Sophie related, so I hope there still are someone out there enjoy this.

* * *

The first time he saw her, she was swapping Degas's_ Fin d'Arabesque_. She ran, he chased. He didn't catch her, but she left the Degas. He caught a glimpse of her, long curly hair, deep brown eyes, a classic brunette beauty. But not until later when he carefully checked the painting to see if it was genuine, did he notice there was something familiar about the ballerina.

x

The next time, it was a Picasso. She pouted when he took it from her, "do you absolutely have to? I finally managed to find a perfect spot for it in my gallery."

"Don't even think about it." He cuffed her, wrapping up the painting carefully. "Besides, why were you after it? It's not even his finest work."

"I like it." She said it like it was the most nature thing. "It actually is one of my favorite portraits. He wasn't really drawing the model, but he captured the spirit."

Even if he had seen the painting a few times in the past, he studied it again before it was returned to the owner. He wasn't really surprised, when through those simple and wild strokes of Picasso, he recognized her.

x

It soon became a puzzle. He read through her files, looked up all the stolen art that were suspected to be her work, and realized quite a few paintings and sculptures she stole featured a woman, as the main character or in the background, who, in spite of dressing up in various styles, he knew in the first sight is her. He even saw her in some other portraits, sculptures and photographs, always breath-taking, never aging, as timeless as the artworks she was in. He wondered if he was being paranoid (which actually wasn't that impossible, considering how often she invaded his mind and dreams), but he knew when it came to her, his instinct had never been wrong.

He decided he would ask her the next time. But the next time they met, they were in Paris. She shot him (and he shot her back), and left behind an entire collection of Monet before he had a chance to ask her anything. But of course, when he went through the collection, he saw her again. _Berthe Morisot with a Bouquet of Violets_, he wondered why he never noticed before.

x

When he heard she was in Florence, he knew exactly where she would be. He caught up with her in Galleria Palatina. Following her gaze, he found he was looking at a Titian.

"It's you." He stepped up and stood beside her.

"Well," she greeted him with one of her mischievous smiles, "you figured out."

"But this woman he painted was supposed to be a royal."

"So?" She shrugged.

Then he remembered she was also a Duchess, a Princess, and most importantly, a grifter. He sighed, "what about _Berthe Morisot_, she was a real person."

"She was." The corners of her mouth lifted up slightly, her eyes shining like every time she talked about her successful cons. "But not the woman on that portrait. Not the Berthe Morisot Monet knew."

"But..." He remembered the more important question. "These paintings are hundred years old, how could you...?"

"Don't look so surprised, Nate," she leaned in, whispering softly beside his ear, "that sexy brain of yours must has some guesses already."

He had, as a matter of fact. A few. "You're an immortal." He could almost picture her as a vampire, beautiful and mysterious, except he had seen her in broad daylight.

"Not immortal, no, not exactly. Just not aging at the same speed as your human does."

"You're...An alien?"

She smiled at his reaction. "Yes."

"So you have lived hundred years, and while doing what?Waiting until the great artists were born and stealing?"

"Nate," she eyed him disapprovingly, "you made my life sound so painfully boring! My life is never boring. I don't sit and wait, I go to them. Travel through time, to be more precisely. Museums shouldn't be the only way we get to know the history."

She was full of surprises, he figured that out long ago. But still, he was once again enchanted (even with her being an alien and talking about geek stuff like time travel). "So you have a time machine? Then there must be times you can steal these paintings much easier. Why choose here, and now?"

I chose you, she thought. But she only laughed, "What's the fun then if there is no challenge?"

"So time travel, and stealing, uh? Sound like a fun life."

She smiled softly. "You know, you could come with me. I always thought you could be good on my side."

He chuckled. "No, Sophie."

"Just imagine, we could meet every artists in history, find every piece of lost art, we would become the best art thieves, the modern Bonnie and Clyde-"

"I'm not a thief, Sophie."

"-or, if you insist, we can simply enjoy the architecture and art in the New New New New Earth, or have a drink in Shenshen-did I mention Tardis is also a spaceship-or sunbathe on the beach of Felspoon, watching the mountains swaying with wind."

"Sophie."

She stopped talking and their eyes met. Then there she was, promising him entire history and universe, the whole time and space. Promising him her, her smile so dazzling and inviting, her lips so full and red, a timeless beauty.

But his ring was cold and solid around his finger, reminding him what he already had. He lowered his gaze, "I can't. I have a wife, and a son."

"I know." She smiled understandingly, but he wondered if it was sadness he saw in her eyes. "But it never hurts to try."

She brushed over him, her lips on his cheeks for a briefest moment, and then disappeared in a blink, maybe already thousand miles or thousand years away from him. That was when he realized he was tempted, so very tempted.


End file.
